


Orchid

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Medical Device, Minor Character Death, Threats towards a minor, Víli is Dís' husband, mention of suicide, when I say 'medical device' I mean I'm using medical information as a plot point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a reason why Thorin blames himself for his brother-in-law's suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orchid

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbetaed because I am an impatient shit.  
> Dís' husband's name suggested by [Avelera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avelera).

During Midsummer in the year 2879 of the Third Age, Thorin Oakenshield was taken ill.

 

It wasn’t considered a serious issue, least of all by him. He had woken up uncomfortable, with an ache in his throat that could not be soothed by water, and a feverish brow that accompanied his throbbing head. He put these trivial things aside, however. He had projects to complete in the forge and duties besides.

 

As the day went on, Thorin admitted that his movements were more sluggish than usual. He tired quickly, and every time his hammer met hot metal, the clanging reverberated in his skull and made his headache worse.

 

Still, there was a reason he was called stubborn (by friends and enemies alike), and so he ignored the protests of his body as he continued working long into the afternoon.

 

It was only because the prince – no, King – wore his beard shorn that the swelling in his face was noticed in the first place. He’d had his hair pulled up away from his face in deference to the sweltering heat – and had yelped in pain when his sister unceremoniously jabbed him in the jaw.

 

Dís pursed her lips. “Send for a healer,” she ordered, and her youngest son hastened to obey.

 

“I am well,” Thorin protested, even as he wiped away the sweat on his forehead that’d been dripping into his eyes. “There is no need –”

 

“If you are indeed well, then you have nothing to fear beyond a moment of your time wasted.”

 

Sighing, Thorin set his hammer aside and sat. That more than anything was a testament to how tired he actually was; it was very rare for either sibling to back down from an impending argument. (Frerin had always been the more level-headed of the three. Had been.)

 

Dís fetched a ladleful of drinking water and Thorin accepted it with a nod. It helped to beat back the pounding in his head.

 

“You should not tax yourself when you’re ill,” Dís said, perching herself at one of his workbenches.

 

He gritted his teeth. “I am not ill.”

 

When Kíli returned with the physician, that statement was proven wrong.

 

“You are an idiot for not calling me sooner,” said the physician, a white-haired Dwarf named Óin. Having played an instrumental role in Thorin’s difficult birthing, he had always treated Thorin with complete irreverence. On usual days, Thorin found this quite refreshing.

 

“I am not ill,” he repeated.

 

“Warrior you may be, and King, but with matters regarding your health I will pass final judgement.” Óin took hold of Thorin’s upper arm. “Come. I will examine you in your rooms.”

 

Thorin did not move. “I really do not think –”

 

“Take care to remember the effects of canola oil on you, my lad, and how I can prescribe it as a medicinal treatment.”

 

Thorin glared. Dís covered her mouth with a hand and, when her obstinate brother disappeared out the door with Óin in tow, bent down to explain to little Kíli how reading the labels on bottles was very important indeed.

 

“Mumps,” Óin declared finally, after Thorin had been settled in his bed and poked and prodded at endlessly. “You must remain in bed until the sickness passes, Thorin.” He looked up at Dís, who had caught up with them. “You must make sure that Fíli and Kíli do not come into contact with him. They could catch it as well.”

 

Predictably, Thorin was displeased with this news. “I cannot spend my time languishing in bed!”

 

Óin looked unsympathetic. “You must, unless you’d like to collapse with your exertion. I hardly think that’s responsible behaviour for even the youngest of Dwarflings, much less the King.”

 

Thorin narrowed his eyes, but could not argue the point. “Dís,” he snapped.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Rule in my stead.”

 

Dís took his hand. “And what would you have me do?”

 

Óin remained by Thorin’s bedside as Thorin gave concise instructions to his sister. At the end of it, Dís nodded and promised that she would carry out all he had asked, and promised that she would update him of the goings on every day.

 

“I will come here during mealtimes, if I can,” she said.

 

“It would be wise,” Óin agreed, nodding his head. “And I think you may have to sleep in Thorin’s antechamber, Dís. It would not do to let this spread to everyone in Ered Luin.” When Dís began to frown, he added, “When you are doing your duties, you must minimise contact with others. Ensure that they do not touch what you touch.”

 

“I suffered this disease as a child,” Dís pointed out, annoyed. “I will recognise when I have developed it, and _then_ I will quarantine myself as Thorin has.”

 

“No. One only develops mumps once in their life. But you still can be infectious.” Óin laid a rectangle of damp cloth on Thorin’s brow. “Now, quick as you can; I’ll need a runner to fetch the poppy tears from the healing rooms. Just in case.”

 

Dís went, although the set of her mouth clearly conveyed her happiness with the whole situation.

 

“Why would you need poppy tears?”

 

Óin sighed. “There may be discomfort.”

 

The other Dwarf shook his head, irritated. “It is treatable, is it not?” Thorin croaked, hands clenching in the furs covering him.

 

“I can do no more than treat the symptoms.” Óin looked down. “And there may be complications, if we are unlucky.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“You will not like it,” the physician warned.

 

Thorin shook his head again, uncaring of the ache it stirred. “Tell me.”

 

Óin told him. Thorin didn’t like it.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was bedridden for upwards of a month. Only Óin and Dís were allowed into his chambers. Because of this, the people gossiped, as they were wont to do. Some wondered at what ailment had really befallen their King (with such suggestions as lovesickness and pneumonia) while others claimed that poison or an assassin had been involved.

 

Of course, there were those who spoke of Thorin being at death’s door. It was clear that the majority of these Dwarves were concerned for their young King rather than maliciously hoping for his passing, and Dís eventually had to turn away well wishers when there grew to be too many that wanted to ask after Thorin.

 

Needless to say, not a one of these rumours was true or even came close to what had really happened. This was unimportant, however. Once Thorin was strong enough – and once Óin allowed him to leave his quarters – he made sure to show the Dwarves of Ered Luin that their King was still healthy and whole.

 

What they didn’t know was that this may not have been _completely_ true.

 

* * *

 

Thorin rose to his feet when his door opened, revealing Dís and Víli. “Sister,” he greeted. “Brother. Thank you for coming.”

 

Dís snorted and let her husband lead her to her seat. “Don’t dawdle, Thorin. Say what you want to say and let us be done with it.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes. “If that is your wish.” He remained standing, back to the fire and his hands behind his back, standing to attention as a soldier would. “I called you here to inform you of some changes that will be put in place soon.”

 

At the stiffness of Thorin’s speech, Dís snorted again.

 

His brother-in-law steepled his fingers. “Does this have to do with this afternoon’s council meeting?”

 

Tipping his head in acknowledgement, Thorin said, “Yes, although my original reasons are much simpler.” Before Dís could demand for him to hasten his words, he added, “It involves the recent issues with my health…” The lines around Thorin’s mouth stiffened. “They have sped up intentions I have had for some time.”

 

“What are you saying?” Víli asked slowly.

 

“I mean to announce Fíli as my heir.” He met first Dís’ gaze, then Víli’s. “It will be done this coming Durin’s Day.”

 

Dís closed her eyes, as if asking for patience. Víli looked ready to jump out of his chair, but for the hand around his wrist.

 

“You have no right,” he said lowly, venom dripping from his words.

 

The only indication that Thorin was angered by that statement was the way his eyes darkened. “I have every right. He is my sister-son, and I am his King – just as I am yours.”

 

“He is too young,” Víli argued. “Just past his second decade. You cannot do this to him.”

 

“I have no choice.” Thorin lifted his chin, tone cold as ice. “I cannot sire an heir of my own. If the throne is to be succeeded by the line of Durin, it must be Fíli who takes it after me.”

 

“So you would rob him of his childhood?” Víli glanced towards his wife, as if expecting her agreement, but Dís remained silent and still. “Why can’t you wait until he has come of age?”

 

“Times are not certain,” was the reply. “And our house has not been fortunate, this past century.” Thorin closed his eyes briefly, remembering the dead. His grandfather, his parents, his _brother_. Friends. Loyal subjects. All blood on his hands. “We must be prepared.”

 

“That is hardly comforting.”

 

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not here to comfort or coddle you. I have informed you of my intentions, so that you may make peace with it. I’ll be speaking with Fíli tomorrow, but you may inform him of the news if you wish.” He looked at Dís as he said this, and she stared back steadily.

 

“I will.”

 

Víli’s head whipped towards her. “You cannot possibly be happy with this news, Dís!”

 

When she turned to him, she looked so much like Thorin in that instant that Víli recoiled slightly. “I am not happy. But I have seen it coming.” Her fingers slid over his wrist as she stood. “And I will do what is right.”

 

Dís then embraced her brother, surprising Víli. To Thorin’s credit, he returned her hug, expression softening for a moment. He murmured something into her ear, too softly for Víli to hear, but it managed to make his wife smile. Víli’s eyes narrowed.

 

“I will send Fíli to you tomorrow, Thorin,” Dís said, pulling away from him and stepping towards the door. Before she reached it, she turned to Víli, holding out her hand. “Come, my husband.”

 

Without another word or look towards his _King_ , Víli stood, and followed her.

 

* * *

 

The coronation came and went.

 

Fíli was forced to attend more classes as was befitting his new status; he did not complain because he understood his duties, even at such a young age. His mother had taught him well.

 

That, and Kíli had insisted on joining him for every single one of these lessons. Thorin found no fault in this. Better the boys remain close.

 

He felt guilty, sometimes, whenever he noted the tired line of Fíli’s shoulders, or the unhappy downturn of Kíli’s mouth. They were much too young for such responsibility – but had he, too, not been young when Erebor had been taken? Life had not been kind to Durin’s Folk, but they would endure nonetheless. They had to.

 

Thorin found himself grateful that Dís did not shun him for his decision. When he brought up the issue, she smiled at him with only a touch of bitterness.

 

“As I said, I knew this was coming.” She rested her hands on the railing overlooking the Western sapphire mines. “I knew, since we were Dwarflings, that you would take no wife. The dragon changed you too much. It had damaged you.”

 

Thorin winced. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

She shook her head pityingly. “That would be like saying you meant for Frerin to die, or for me to have children. I _understand_ , Thorin. I don’t blame you.”

 

Víli, however, did.

 

The no longer spoke to each other, unless it was to exchange curt greetings. Thorin knew that this enmity upset Dís and her children, but he also knew that Víli thought himself justified in his actions.

 

The fact remained that Thorin could not fully empathise with his brother-in-law. Thorin didn’t know how it felt to be a father, and he _never would_. His heart clenched painfully.

 

Unbidden, his mother’s words came to him, a saying that she repeated to Thorin and his siblings when they were being difficult: _You’ll only know how precious a thing is when you no longer have it_.

 

It brought him no comfort.

 

* * *

 

It was late. Thorin cradled Kíli in his arms, walking towards the room Kíli shared with his older brother. The little Dwarf had fallen asleep in Thorin’s lap, having insisted on keeping his uncle company. Thorin saw no harm in indulging Kíli’s whims; Fíli’s history lessons were too boring for a fifteen-year-old Dwarfling.

 

And if he had spent most of his time tickling his nephew and telling him fanciful stories of Dwarf warriors, well, no one but Kíli and he would know.

 

The room was dark and quiet when he entered, so Thorin silently made his way to Kíli’s bed and settled him under the blanket. He stroked Kíli’s brown hair for a moment before straightening to leave.

 

“And here I thought you had stolen another one of my sons.”

 

Thorin’s gaze snapped to the corner. Now that his eyes had adjusted properly to the gloom, he could see Víli lounging lazily in a chair, an ugly expression on his face.

 

Carefully keeping his tone level, Thorin said, “I have not stolen either of your sons.”

 

Víli’s smile – if it could be called a smile – was unpleasant. “Not literally, perhaps.” He got up off his chair and sauntered to Kíli’s bed, looking down at his youngest. “It’s only a matter of time before you poison Kíli’s mind against me.”

 

Up close, Thorin noticed how pale and drawn Víli looked, dark circles under his brown eyes. As the Dwarf reached down to touch Kíli’s cheek his hands shook, plain as day.

 

Making sure that he appeared relaxed and nonthreatening, Thorin raised his palms and said, “Víli… brother, please, we can talk, if you like.”

 

Víli hissed angrily. “You don’t have the right to call me that. Just like I had no right to decide what was best for _my_ son.”

 

“The decisions of the kingdom are bigger than any single Dwarf –”

 

“They shouldn’t be!” Pure fury flashed in his eyes and spittle flew from Víli’s mouth as he spoke heatedly. “You should pass the throne to Dain. He would prove a better King than _you_!”

 

Thorin took a breath. “Víli, I would be happy to discuss this with you, but please, away from the Dwarflings.”

 

“Why?” Víli challenged. “Do you think that you’d serve as a better father to them? Do you now mean to replace me?”

 

“No –”

 

“You’re never satisfied with what you already have,” he spat, interrupting Thorin. “Dís is my One, but it is plain to all with eyes that you hold her strings, pulling her along like your puppet. And then you claim my firstborn as your heir, dooming him to a life of loneliness and _duty_.” The light in his eyes was truly mad as a feral grin twisted his mouth. “Soon you will take Kíli, won’t you?”

 

Thorin, alarmed beyond belief, bent his knees slightly. If he had to, he would subdue Víli. He’d deal with the consequences later. “Please, I don’t –”

 

“Admit it!”

 

“I won’t. I never will – Víli –”

 

“Lie all you want, my King. My brother.” Víli grinned mockingly, a hand reaching to his belt. “I have lost Fíli, but I’ll not make the same mistake with Kíli. He will never be yours. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

It happened too quickly. Thorin would forevermore remember the gleam of the dagger as it nestled against the still-slumbering Kíli’s neck. He was frozen in place, rightly guessing that any movement would result in nothing but blood.

 

“Víli, _please_.” Desperation suffused Thorin’s voice as he stood on the other side of Kíli’s bed, utterly helpless. “Think about what you’re doing – that’s Kíli, that’s your son!”

 

“Yes. My son. _Mine_.” Víli strokes Kíli’s hair with his free hand, smiling beatifically. “I will make sure he’s safe from your clutches, and then I will join him. You’ll see, I –”

 

“Da, _no_!”

 

Both Thorin and Víli turned towards Fíli, who stood at the foot of the bed, hands clenched in his nightclothes. He looked utterly terrified.

 

“Fíli –”

 

With Víli distracted Thorin took his chance; he grabbed Kíli, blankets and all, startling the lad into wakefulness. Kíli cried out softly, and Víli whirled back around, dagger raised. He froze when he saw the way Thorin shielded Kíli with his bulk.

 

Thorin knew he couldn’t reach his own weapon with Kíli in his arms – panic roiled in his head and made his thoughts slow. He turned Kíli’s head away, hiding Kíli’s face in his neck, offering what little protection he could.

 

Víli’s eyes flicked towards Fíli. The crown prince had started crying.

 

With a loud curse, Víli ran.

 

“Da!”

 

“Fíli, to me,” Thorin commanded.

 

The Dwarfling obligingly tottered over, plainly frightened and confused. “Uncle, what – what’s going on?”

 

Thorin went to his knees. It was a bit of a struggle, but he managed to lift Fíli, keeping both boys close to him. “Hush, lad, it’s alright. It’s alright now.”

 

He held them close for as long as he dared. Then he called for the guards.

 

* * *

 

They found Víli’s body three days later. At least, they found the remains that had not been picked off by carrion crow.

 

Thorin called for a full week of mourning. All but the most necessary work was put aside for the first day. The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains walked in the halls and corridors like spectres, speaking in hushed whispers and praying that Nienna would be kind to Víli’s soul.

 

Most of all, they wondered what had happened. Dwarves were not known to take their own lives, and it was difficult to imagine what was so terrible to drive Víli to throw himself off the mountain.

 

Dís remained stiff-backed and unmoved when Thorin informed her of the news. She needed to be strong for her sons, after all. There were tears in her eyes for only a moment – when she next blinked, they were gone.

 

Kíli didn’t seem to fully understand what had happened; he’d been too sleepy to accurately remember the events of that night. He kept asking after his father and asking why he had left. Fíli’s eyes were shuttered, clearly haunted by the memories of his own father trying to kill his brother. Thorin hoped that Fíli would one day be able to forgive Víli, and regain his spark. Neither of them deserved this.

 

Víli hadn’t deserved this.

 

In the privacy of his chambers, Thorin closed his arms around Dís and his sister-sons and shut his eyes.

 

Mentally, he added another name to the list of deaths he was responsible for.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, mumps can cause the complication of orchitis in men. Mumps-related orchitis cannot be cured, and can lead to sterility. According to my research, it's very painful.


End file.
